I'm making this a two-shot now. So, hope you like. I'm probably ruining this by adding this second chapter so if it is not liked or whatever I'll delete it.

Romanian will be in italics. Let's pretend that Bruce doesn't know any Romanian in this fic. Kay?


Chapter 2:


Mr. Wayne.

That was what he had been called for the first year when Richard had come in with him. Then it had been Bruce after convincing him it was alright. Then it was trying to tell him to speak english. Everytime Richard got excited or frightened or nervous he would slip into rapid Romanian.

"Bruce, Bruce! Ai văzut că? Am facut un flip perfectă patru ori! Ca o părinţii mei m-au învăţat! Bruce, Bruce! Did you see that? I did a perfect quadruple flip! Like the one my parents taught me!"

Never once had Bruce been called dad. He had come to terms with the fact that he could never replace his father. He would never replace the man who had once lived with the boy. He could never replace his mother either. He couldn't replace his parents.

Constantly the boy would talk about them. Telling him Romanian rhymes and songs. Of course, he would then get a deflated, lonely look on his face but then jump right back up and be his normal self.

For the first few months of living with Bruce he was so polite. So shy. So reluctant to welcome anyone in.

"Thanks Mr. Wayne." and "No thank you Mr. Wayne." Were always said. He was much more accustomed to Alfred and was often caught in the kitchen chatting happily. When 'Mr. Wayne' walked in he would shut his mouth and stare down at the granite counters. Alfred would send Bruce an apologetic smile but would return to cooking and asking questions. They would remain unanswered until Bruce left but Alfred hoped on getting the boy to open up.

One time Bruce had refrained from walking in, just so he could listen to the boy talk.

"My Mama would make a special soup. It was a special one just incase you were sick. She made it for me when we were in Wash... Washinon-"

"Washington, Master Richard?"

"Uh huh, and we were up north. That was what she said. I got the colds and she made me soup."

"Cold Master Richard, not colds."

"Yeah, and she made it for me. It was yummy. Could you make if I got sick?"

"Most positive Master Richard. If I had the ingredients."

"Cool. Oh, hey Mr. Wayne." Richard said suddenly. Bruce blinked, he hadn't made any movement, had he? He hadn't made any sound. For heavens sake he was Batman. He simply didn't just make a sound.

He slipped into the kitchen and saw Richard staring at the counter, very red in the face.

Alfred stared at Bruce; bewildered that Richard had known he was there.

"Hello, Richard," Bruce said, and leaned against the counter. He stared at the ebony straight faced, hoping to get some type of emotion from him. "Hi, Mr. Wayne," The boy whispered, "How are you?"

"Richard, you can call me Bruce."

The boy nodded, still staring down at the counter. He always acted like this around Bruce. Shy and quiet. He rarely ever said anything to Bruce. He was refined and generally stayed away from him. Never before had he been called dad.

That was why he was so worried when he called him 'dad' on the medical table. He thought that maybe he was thinking of his real father. So, when he said, "I know dad." He had been shocked, happy and glad at the same time. Even a bit worried about it. The cuts and bruises had already begun to heal. But right then he worried mostly of his mind. But he was worried about him nonetheless.

Richard was his son. He had already called Richard his son. He had earned that title. Bruce thought of him as his son, not matter what. After a year of living with the boy; Richard was his son. Even if he wasn't his dad, yet.


"Richard?" He asked, shaking the thirteen year old. The boy winced and Bruce felt guilty, he never wanted to hurt his son. Ever. He was protective, maybe to overprotective. But this was his only son. Sue him.

"Bruce?" The boy said, his eyes flickering open. Bruce felt a tiny stab of pain at the sound of his name from the boys mouth.

"I'm here. Are you alright?" Bruce asked, staring down at his son with worried brown eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where…where am I?" he asked, sitting up. He cried out in pain and clutched his shoulder where he had been shot. Putting weight on it wouldn't be very wise. Bruce sighed and helped support him so he could sit up. Richard smiled a bit and looked around, seeming mildly confused. They were at Wayne Manor in Richards room, and Richard was in his bed. The black bed sheets were pulled over him.

He looked around, now sitting up with little support from his guardian... He rubbed his head and winced as he rubbed the bruise into his head. A few scratches were located around it and one even cut through it.

Bruce was sitting on a chair, which was graciously put there by Alfred, by Dick's bed. He had circles under his eyes from two days of not sleeping. Call him worried, but it had been worth watching his little bird sleep. He did, Richard, have a nightmare. And there had nothing that Alfred nor Bruce could do as he screamed for them.

For the parents Bruce could never replace.

Bruce sighed and leaned back reluctantly as Richard supported himself in the bed. He was looking around, confused. "Why are we here?" He asked and turned to stare at Bruce. His icy-azure-navy blue eyes stared at him, circulating and bringing you in so you could see anything and everything and nothing about this boy all at the same time.

"This is your room." Bruce replied, stating the obvious. The worry was in his face and his voice and Dick could easily detect it. He frowned and looked away, staring at the poster on his wall. The poster of the flying Grayson's. Bruce followed his gaze and sighed, swallowing and looking away, feeling maybe he was invading on something.

"I'm sorry." Richard blurted out, turning on the black haired man so suddenly it must have caused him pain in his shoulder.

"For what? You didn't do anything-"

"I took on the Joker by myself, aren't you a bit mad?" The boy demanded, cutting Bruce off, gazing at him angrily, which greatly confused 'Mr. Wayne.'

"Do you want me to be angry?"

Dick frowned and looked away, thinking about something. His forehead crinkled from the concentration. His blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance.

"No."

"Then there's nothing for me to be angry about-"

"Bruce! Îmi pare rău! Am fost atât de prost! Eu nu ar fi trebuit luat pe Joker! Am fost aşa de sigur de mine! Nu ştiu ce mă gândeam! Imi pare rau! Într-adevăr! A fost doar ceva ce am fost atât de sigur că şi eu nu ştiu ce mă gândeam! Cinstit![1]" Dick began speaking in rapid Romanian. Bruce had picked out only bits and pieces but he was still staring at the boy with an eyebrow raised, a blank expression on his face. He never learned Romanian and now he wished that he had. Dick was breathing heavily, like he had just gotten something really important off his chest.

"Richard-"

"Vreau să spun! Sunt surprins ca nu am spus nimic încă! Tu nu par a fi supărat, dar eu nu pot spune! Dumneavoastră aşa de gol cea mai mare parte a timpului! Ca şi cum mi-a spus Alfred ai fost înainte de am venit! Eu nu primesc niciodată nimic de la tine! Cea mai mare parte a timpului este furie sau dezamăgire! Vreau doar să fie tatăl meu! Doar o dată![2]" Richard stopped suddenly when Bruce turned his face toward him. He hadn't understood most of what he'd siad but he understood one word.

Dad.

Just once.

And my.

Alright, maybe more than one word. But he'd gotten the jist of it. The boy needed a dad.

He had called him dad.

"Richard," He paused when Richard turned on him. The look on the boys' face told him that he was in slight pain but was ignoring it for him. Normally, Bruce wouldn't allow it (and neither would Alfred) but this seemed… important.

"Richard, I'm your dad. Alright? I am." 'I'm here for you.' He thought but didn't hoped this was the right thing to say. He wasn't his father. But, he was the closest thing he's got. If it wasn't the right thing to say he'd be screwed.

Dick frowned and looked away and a pang of guilt washed through Bruce. So it had been the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks dad, really."


So, yeah. Uber cheesey and probably uber horrible. Review?

Warning: These are not exact translations. Goolge transtlate is a but and doens't translate correctly most of the time. Sorry.

[1]: Bruce! Sorry! I was so stupid! I should not have taken the Joker! I was so sure of myself! Do not know what I thought! Sorry! Really! It was just something I was so sure that I do not know what I was thinking! Honest!

[2]: I mean! I'm surprised you have not said anything yet! You don't seem to be upset, but I cant' tell! You're so empty most of the time! Like Alfred said you were before I came! I never get anything from you! Most of the time it's anger or disappointment! I just want you to be my dad! Just once!

(PERFORMANCE IS COMING OUT TODAY! YES!)

So, please leave a review of your kind or not so kind thoughts. This was stupid and I might delete the second chapter if you want. On a brighter note though, I am thinking of doing one of those 'Dick-to-Robin-staying with Bruce-after-parents-deaths-fics.' You know, where it shows how he came to live with Bruce and all. Totally a father/son fic.


Review please.